Pay Our Regards, Will You?
by Rand0mAn0nym0u2
Summary: Davesprite unknowingly dooms the timeline when he gives Bro a proper funeral. Version 2.


Davesprite held the katana in ready stance, Bro across from him doing the same. In between them was Jack Noir, temporarily distracted by Lil' Cal. Bro advanced, swinging his bloody weapon at the scourge with ease. Jack struggled to block it, barely parrying in time. Davesprite rushed to assist, slitting the skin on Jack's back and sinking deep. Candy red blood slid into the groove in the centreof the blade, splattering Davesprite's feathers in its wake. The katana caught on the thick muscle as it shifted in pain. Jolted by Davesprite's attack, Jack twisted to face him. The puppet was still blocking most of the Dersite's view, but he flung it off and rushed to assail the sprite.

Jack unsheathed one of his many daggers and thrust forward. The younger Strider was suddenly airborne, feeling impact not from the front, like he expected, but from the side. Away from the fight he landed awkwardly on his wispy tail. He should have been dead. Why wasn't he dead? Then he saw Bro, bleeding. The red made rivers on Bro's white shirt, partially obscuring his hat logo. It looked so wrong in this place. It didn't belong here, outside of Bro's skin and dripping to the ground. He rushed over to his dying guardian and cradled his head.

He looked into those orange eyes, the same shade as his feathers and struggled not to cry. Jack didn't appreciate being ignored and sent him flying with a backhanded strike. He lay on the rugged ground The Land of Wind and Shade provided, wounded by more than physical pain.

He felt broken, like a metaphorical mirror, all of the pieces scattered, reflecting through the timelines so that he lived and died a thousand times. This was his existence, to be Dave's guide, even though there were too many to count with all of the time travel antics. If he dies here, now, this will become another doomed timeline that he could have prevented, had he only been stronger. Dead Daves are the enemy. Feeding off this reason to live, he picked himself back up and turned to the steadily approaching fiend. Davesprite's face was a mess, emotionally tarnished, feelings written through his features like he was a motherfucking novel. His strokes were clumsy, his movements awkward. Jack sensed this and drew his longer blade. It unsheathed with a hiss. In a majestic ark, he swung down on Davesprite's head. Davesprite sidestepped to dodge, but it wasn't enough, and he felt a harsh pain on his wing. Hacking without grace now, the beastly foe cut one of his crow wings off. Davesprite's blood turned to fire throughout his whole body, the epicenter at the laceration. His bone there was splintered, the cut messy. The limb hung limp and dead. Suddenly lighter, he felt unbalanced but at the same time heavier dragging the appendage behind him. With one final scream he cut the last tendon attaching his wing to his body and faced that son of a bitch. With the pain came a focus unparalleled before. His training returned to him with a terrifying rage, holding his sword firmly. Cool and collected, he resumed the battle with no sign of fatigue or flaw in technique. Slash! Stab! Thrust! Block! He could hear his brother lecturing him on the roof of their apartment. He could remember sweat pouring from them as they practiced under the Texas sun.

Noir and Davesprite's swords clashed again. The teterrimous Dersite's left fist was curling tight for an uppercut. Seeing this, the sprite angled his ghostly form so that the blow met no resistance. Jack stumbled forward and Davesprite was now floating to the side of him. He gripped the harlequin-like head and smashed it against the stone ground. An audible crunch could be heard above the crackling of the green flames. Davesprite nearly smiled at that. He wanted the sound to fucking _echo_. Stoically, the orange hands rose up to smash down again. And again.

"Caw caw motherfucker," He said. With Jack K-O d, he swooped over to Bro. The older Strider lay chillingly still. Sweet, metallic-smelling blood painted rivulets in the valleys of Bro's toned body. Davesprite wanted to retch.

Wobbling a little, although unnoticeably so, he tried to drag his dead guardian away from the fiery arena. Davesprite wanted to give Bro a proper funeral. He looked down at himself darkly. _A proper funeral? __**That's**__ what your worried about?_ First he needed to get out of here alive. He heaved on the corpse in front of him, but it only reminded him just how god damn **heavy** Bro was. His vision blurred for a moment. Davesprite needed to keep in mind that Bro wasn't the only one losing blood. Davesprite would be out pretty soon at this rate. In the corner of his eye, he saw the unconscious figure shift a bit. Bro Strider would have told him to leave him behind, to carry out his duty. Fuck that.

He picked up the body that grew lighter with every spilt drop of blood. That gave him an idea. A totally Striderly, ironic, practical, macabre idea. Davesprite put Bro back down and quickly unsheathed the sword from his own chest. Delicately piercing the tan skin beneath him, he slit open Bro and carefully emptied the contents of his ribcage and stomach. Bro wasn't nearly light enough to carry yet, but it would have to do, because Jack certainly wasn't about to wait. Seeing the black monster awaken, Davesprite underwent a sudden rush of adrenaline pumping strength through his veins. With his brother in his arms he absconded the fuck out of there.


End file.
